


The Prince

by orphan_account



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Alternate Universe - Slavery, Bottom Niall, Dirty Talk, First Time, Genital Piercing, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Nipple Piercings, Orgasm Denial, Prince Zayn, Princes & Princesses, Recreational Drug Use, Riding, Rimming, Shotgunning, Showers, Smoking, Tattoos, Top Zayn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-09
Updated: 2014-05-03
Packaged: 2017-12-10 20:44:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 20,138
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/789978
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Zayn is a wealthy, entitled prince. Niall is his new toy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part One

Zayn sighs, barely noticing the air heavily perfumed with spice and incense. He shifts his limbs slowly, trying to work out the stiffness. Though he likes the way the throne elevates him above the rest of the commoners, it isn’t the best in terms of comfort. Nothing like his big feather bed. Zayn stifles a yawn. He’d really rather be sleeping. 

 

The line of suitors had been long - all princesses and ladies who had been presented to him in order of their political and financial importance. This one was really reaching far, though. She was doing some sort of dance, though she wasn’t very good. _I could do better,_ Zayn thinks snidely. The overdone makeup and obviously fake jewels studded into her outfit make her look cheap. He doesn’t want anything to do with that.

He lifts a lazy finger, the gold bands on his wrist clinking together. The musicians stop playing immediately and the girl falls out of the step of her dance. She whirls her head around to the musicians, and then to Zayn. He puts a falsely pleased smile on his face and beckons her over to him. He sees her smug smile and suppresses one of his own.

Zayn bends to whisper in her ear.

“If you can’t even afford a decent outfit,” he purrs, “then how can you possibly expect to be an asset to me?”

The girl gasps and looks like she’s about to hit him. Zayn merely waves a hand in dismissal and she stalks out of the smoky hall.

The spectators filter out of the hall slowly. Zayn doesn’t even know why they still come. They should know by now that there’s probably no woman in the kingdom that could incite a scrap of desire in him.

It wasn’t that he didn’t like girls, per se. He just didn’t like the superior attitude that most of them displayed. They were royalty, he supposed, but he didn’t like anyone thinking that they might be better than him. He hated too the way that everyone around him expected him to make a decision based on the political benefits that marriage entailed. It made him feel as though he was playing right into the plans of everyone else.

He slid off of the throne, the bangles around his wrists and ankles clinking softly. He was completely alone in the hall - it was funny how everyone left the moment he made a decision. He was sure that his attendants were off relaying the news of his suitor’s rejection to his parents, who would subject him to another unbearable talk about his future. Zayn didn’t want a wife. He didn’t want or need to produce an heir, what with his older brother already having fathered two healthy sons. Chances were the rule of the kingdom would never even fall into his hands, so long as his brother didn’t die before his eldest son reached eighteen. 

He supposed he’d choose someone eventually, if only to keep her around to argue with. Maybe that was what he wanted anyway. 

He slouched out of the hall and ignored the looks of the servants hurrying down the halls. In reality, they weren’t supposed to look him in the eyes, but most of them knew that he didn’t care for such silly rules. Zayn liked to think of himself as more progressive than his father. Plus, he liked to scope out which of them would look nice pinned against his sheets. 

Zayn’s personal chambers consist of a lounge, a washroom, and a bedroom, which was literally a room housing his gigantic bed - circular in shape and covered in expensive silks and furs.

A curly head pokes its way around the doorway and a figure emerges lugging a full jug of soapy water.

“Hello, Harry,” Zayn says smugly. 

“Want to know something ridiculous?” Harry huffs. “I’m not allowed to dump the water I use to clean down your drain. Everything that goes down your shower drain is used in ceremonies since it’s ‘touched the skin of the son of God.’” Harry rolls his eyes and Zayn smirks. 

“Well, I hope they know that it’s not just bathwater going down my shower drain.” 

Harry wrinkles his nose. “I think they drink it.”

Zayn laughs. “Set that down, come and undress me. I’m taking a nap.”

Harry goes to him and begins slipping off the jewelry adorning Zayn’s body, first removing his rings, bracelets, and arm cuff. He crouches to undo his sandals and slip off his ankle bands, gently takes out his bellybutton piercing and unwinds the silk from his torso. Finally, he removes the circlet from Zayn’s head - no one’s supposed to touch it besides the royal family, but Harry’s special. He’s been Zayn’s companion since they were both boys, his closest personal attendant, and the only person allowed to enter his personal chambers without Zayn’s permission.

Harry finishes by passing a damp cloth over Zayn’s eyes, removing the kohl lining the edges and the gold dusted over his eyelids. 

Zayn bumps his nose into Harry’s. “Wake me in two hours.”

Harry smirks, lifts his bucket again. “Yes, your holiness.” Zayn grins and watches Harry lug the bucket out of his chambers.

His parents are probably searching frantically for him at the moment, but they aren’t allowed in his chambers. Zayn doesn’t quite care enough to send a message to them - besides, they’ll hear from all the other spectators what happened. Maybe if they actually cared enough to attend the ceremony, they’d understand his decisions instead of mindlessly criticizing them. Zayn shakes his head a little in a futile attempt to shed the thoughts that are quickly bringing a throbbing ache to his temples. 

Sleep will help. He slips into bed noiselessly and dreams of something soft and warm and strangely scented that he can’t quite remember when he wakes up.

He’s woken not by Harry, but an insistent kneading at his lap, and he smiles before his eyes are even open. “Morning, Isa,” he mutters. “Or afternoon.” He rolls to tip the little desert fox off of him and she bounds to his face, expecting cuddles. Zayn scratches her behind her oversized ears and looks up as Harry peers into his room.

“Your parents want you for dinner,” Harry says briskly.

Zayn rolls his eyes. “Want to go for me?”

Harry throws his hands up. “I’m not the one with every princess in the country throwing herself at my feet. Besides, Zayn, I think they’ve about had it, they look like they’re in an ultimatum-delivering mood.”

Zayn sighs. “Lovely.”

 

The table is set with breads and cheeses and olives and cured meats, all things that Zayn likes to eat but nothing he’ll enjoy while he’s being stared down by both his parents at once. The king and queen make an imposing couple, and while Zayn likes to defy them, he can’t deny that they intimidate him at times - particularly when they’re together.

Tricia clears her throat, and Zayn glances up from where he’s picking at some grapes.

“We’ve made a decision,” she says smoothly. “As proven by your treatment of the Milanese duchess this morning, you seem to be quite incapable of choosing a bride on your own.”

“Are you sure she was a duchess? She honestly looked like she had been plucked off of the streets,” Zayn mutters snidely.

Tricia glares at him, and the vein in Yasir’s forehead grows even more pronounced. 

“So,” his mother presses on, “we have a proposition for you. If you allow us to pick your bride, we shall allow you a personal concubine. Whoever you desire.”

Zayn raises his eyebrows. So typical of his parents to think that he could be bought out with sex. He had been wanting a human pet for quite some time, but his parents had always refused him, thinking it unseemly for an underage boy. He pretends to consider for a few minutes, though he’s already made up his mind.

“All right,” he acquiesces. “So long as you don’t pick that horrid girl from today. I shall expect to go to the marketplace tomorrow morning, with Harry.”

Zayn watches his parent’s faces split into relieved grins, and can’t help but feel a bit relieved himself. This wife matter had gone on for far too long, and he supposed that if his parents were to insist that he have one, it might be best for them to choose for him. Her presence might be bearable if he has his own private entertainment on the side.

*

The marketplace is a lot dustier and brighter and hotter than the palace, and Zayn doesn’t care for all the filth and squalor surrounding him. The shade provided from the fan that Harry’s holding above him helps a little, but it also helps people to recognize him. Zayn’s grateful for the bodyguards shielding him from the dirty commoners reaching out to touch him (and probably trying to steal his jewelry.) 

They reach the base of a white marble building that is relatively clean compared to the ramshackle vendor’s stalls surrounding it, and ascend the stairs into the city’s most prestigious slave dealer’s offices.

The man waiting in the entrance bows fluidly as soon as he sights Zayn. “Your Holiness,” he murmurs reverently.

“Good day,” Zayn says indifferently. “I am here to look at your wares, as I am sure the message detailed?”

The man nods fervently. “Yes, sir - if you are ready, I can escort you back right now.”

The bodyguards wait in the entrance hall, but Harry follows Zayn and the man through a doorway and into the smoky interior of the building. There are people everywhere, strewn across the pillows and rugs covering the floors. Incense smoke drifts through the heavy air and the eyes of the figures on the floor smoulder up at him. None of them are wearing much, and they’re all quite beautiful. There are men and women and some people who look in between - the dealer clearly aims to please a wide crowd.

Zayn tears his gaze away from a gorgeous woman with hair flowing down to the small of her back, and looks at the dealer. “They are all for sale?” he asks.

The dealer bows again. “Of course, any of them for you.” 

“Is this all?”

The dealer purses his lips. “Why, no, actually. There is one, a boy, who I have been saving for a special customer. He is very unique. Very expensive.”

“Show him to me,” Zayn says immediately.

“I’ll have to insist that you come privately,” the man tells him, looking pointedly at Harry.

Zayn nods and follows the man alone out of the dim room and down the hallway, where he takes a heavy ring of keys from his belt and unlocks a nondescript door. The room inside is divided in half with tall iron bars separating them from a small living space with a bed and toilet.

“He has private quarters so that not just anyone can come in to gawk at him,” the dealer explains, but Zayn barely even hears him. He’s too busy staring at the boy behind the bars.

He’s sitting on a chair in the corner of the cell, eyes wide as he takes in Zayn’s presence. His skin is milky white, paler than anyone Zayn’s ever seen in his life, as if he’s never seen the sun. His hair, too, looks like the tassels of the corn that Zayn has seen imported from far off places and he wonders faintly if maybe it is some sort of wig.

They boy’s cheeks grow pink under the scrutiny and he fidgets. His body is long and lean, his eyes more strikingly blue than jewels.

“Where did you find him?” Zayn breathes. 

“He’s imported, from Europe. The cost of shipping him here was substantial, but I think he was a good investment.”

“What’s his name?”

“Have him tell you. Your name, boy.”

The boy glances at them fearfully. “Niall,” he says softly, and Zayn is struck by the quality of his voice. 

“Say something else,” he demands.

Niall swallows. “I’m seventeen. I’m from Mullingar.” Zayn’s intrigued by his exotic accent, moves to the cell bars to watch him even more closely.

“If you’d like, I can arrange a private meeting,” the dealer says.

Zayn shakes his head. “No. I’ll take him. Please make sure he is delivered to the palace by tonight. You’ll be paid when he arrives.”

The man bows. “It is a pleasure to do business with you, your holiness.”

Zayn leaves the room with his heart pounding, unable to shake the picture of the piercing blue eyes and the tones of the boy’s voice from his head.

*

The slave dealer is uncharacteristically cheerful as he drags the key to Niall’s cell out of his pocket.

“Realize who that was, boy?” he asks Niall excitedly. “Royalty. Lives in that palace above the city. You’re going to a very special home, we’ll have to get you in top condition.”

Niall’s silent as a matronly woman scrubs his skin raw in a washbasin. He doesn’t know if he should be excited or frightened. This prince fellow sounded quite wealthy, and he hopes that he’ll be treated well at the palace. The dealer wasn’t bad to him, but it was quite boring living in his little cubicle with only soup to eat. At the same time, he’s intimidated by the prince. His dark gaze that seemed almost predatory won’t leave Niall’s mind.

He isn’t quite sure why he seems to have been pegged as such a valuable specimen. All the other people in the house were devastatingly beautiful, and trained in the art of pleasing a master. He was just Niall, a boy from Mullingar who’d been plucked from the streets by a foreign man after his parents had both died during famine. It had been only him and his older brother, who had shrugged and told Niall that the work he could find in a different country could be worth the journey. So much for that, Niall thinks sourly as the woman moves on to forcefully clear every speck of dirt from underneath his fingernails with a coarse brush.

Niall knows what’s coming next the moment the smell of the wax curls into his nostrils. They did this to him once already, when he first arrived at the place. He doesn’t scream as much as he did the first time, though his fears are rekindled when he begins to consider why certain areas are being prepared the way that they are. 

He’s sore all over by the time he’s sitting in the back of a carriage that’s moving quickly into the heart of the city, towards what Niall supposes is the palace. His body has been cleaned, waxed, polished, oiled, and perfumed to the point of oblivion, and he feels like some sort of show horse. He wonders if he’d be better off throwing himself out of the back of the carriage, but knows there’s nothing more waiting for him in the streets but poverty and hunger. Niall sighs, and settles into the seat of the carriage. He might as well simply accept his fate.


	2. Part Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Niall meets the prince.

Zayn’s in the dining hall that evening, watching a troupe of dancers while maintaining a skillfully unimpressed expression when Harry comes trotting in to whisper at his ear.

“He’s here. Have fun tonight.”

Zayn grins, and becomes even more impatient for the dancers to finish their stupid show so that he can excuse himself. They go on for another half an hour, of course, and Zayn makes sure to catch the eye of the lead more than once with what he hopes looks like a murderous glare.

When the troupe finally exits the hall and the dishes from dinner have been cleared, Zayn makes for his quarters hastily, where he finds Harry.

“Send for him, please,” Zayn tells him. Harry smirks and leaves without a word, leaving Zayn to sit on his bed and take deep breaths. He wants nothing more than to get rid of Niall’s clothes, to see if he’s that pale all over, to run his fingers through his cornsilk hair to see if it’s as soft as it looks. He can scarcely remember being this intrigued by anyone. Sex to him has become a regular occurrence, not anything special or noteworthy. Niall is new, exotic. He can’t remember the last time he actually got butterflies in his stomach thinking about having sex with someone, but he can barely contain his excitement right now.

Zayn forces himself to calm down, and he checks to be sure that the little pot of oil on the table next to his bed is full. Harry generally keeps him very well stocked.

The door to his chambers creaks open a moment later, and Zayn rises quickly from his bed to greet the arrival. 

Niall stands in his doorway, looking like a frightened kitten, his eyes huge and wary. He looks even more luminous than he had at the brothel, his milky skin seeming almost to gleam in the soft light of the room. Zayn exhales deeply, taking the sight in as much detail as he can.

Niall fidgets uncomfortably under Zayn’s dark gaze. He’s amazed by the splendor of the room he’s just walked into, full of richly coloured rugs and couches with a tiny burbling fountain in the center. Niall knows the value of water in this part of the world and guesses that not many people have fountains in their houses. He nearly laughs at himself for thinking of something so trivial at a time like this, and his eyes flicker back to the prince, who’s still staring at him. He seems to come back to reality when Niall meets his gaze, and he steps forward to close the door behind Niall.

“Come with me,” the prince tells him, and Niall follows him wordlessly into another room.

“My name is Prince Zayn Malik of Arabia,” he tells Niall. “And I am your new owner. You are to obey every command that I give you, and failure to do so will result in punishment. I am a very powerful person and it is unwise to test me. Do you understand?”

Niall nods timidly.

“Good.” Zayn’s voice becomes a little softer. “You do understand me, correct? You speak Arabic?”

Niall nods again.

Zayn lets a little smile - just a little one - show, and then he’s back to business. He sits down on the massive bed dominating the space and shimmies up to the headboard, where he sits back and looks Niall up and down where he’s still standing awkwardly.

“Okay,” Zayn says, mostly to himself. “Strip.”

“What?” Niall squeaks.

“Take off your clothes,” Zayn says impatiently, with a wave of his hand. “I want to watch.”

Niall blushes, his cheeks turning a vibrant shade of pink that Zayn’s never seen before. He begins to step out of his pants hurriedly.

“No,” Zayn growls. “Do it properly. Slowly.” 

Niall blushes even harder, and eases the rest of the way out of his pants. As embarrassed as he is to admit it, he knows what Zayn wants, and he removes his shirt fluidly, toying with the hem before pulling it off. He risks a glance at Zayn only to find him leaning back against the headboard, dragging his eyes across Niall’s body and palming himself through his own pants.

Niall’s stomach does a big flip, and his knees almost give out from the combination of embarrassment, nervousness, and...well, arousal. Zayn’s beautiful, and to see him so concentrated on Niall is as hot as it is unnerving. Niall can’t deny that he’s been in awe of the prince from the moment he first saw him, with his dark eyes and godly presence.

Niall dips his fingers just underneath the hem of his underwear, tries not to hyperventilate, and hesitantly pulls the garment off. He stands there completely naked, resisting the urge to cover himself up.

Zayn’s nearly ready to come in his pants. If Niall was beautiful with his clothes on, Zayn doesn’t know what to think now. The delightful blush that started at his cheekbones has spread down his neck and chest, and he stands there, stark ivory skin accented with pink lips and perky little nipples. 

“Come here,” Zayn tells him, softly. As eager as he is to touch Niall, he can sense the boy’s anxiety and wants him to feel at ease. Niall crawls awkwardly onto the bed, watching Zayn with his big blue eyes rather warily. He pauses at Zayn’s feet, sits back on his heels.

Zayn leans forward to kiss Niall, takes his face in his hands for the first time and covers his mouth with his own matter-of-factly. Niall seems a bit overwhelmed by the kiss, freezing with his eyes wide open before relaxing his mouth to Zayn’s.

Zayn keeps his mouth gentle, but moves his hands to stroke down Niall’s sides, marvelling at how soft and warm his skin is, brushing his fingers over ribs and hipbones and moving back to trail down the bumps of his vertebrae. 

“You’re so beautiful, so pale,” Zayn murmurs, fanning his hand against Niall’s chest. “Does the sun here burn you?”

Niall nods dazedly, shivering a little under Zayn’s touch. He’d done it, before, with girls in his village. Never a boy, though he wasn’t particularly adverse to the idea. He’d always appreciated the way their muscles strained through their clothes when they lifted something, or the way their brows would crease in mirth when Niall made a joke.

Prince Zayn wasn’t like the boys from his village, though. Prince Zayn wasn’t like anyone Niall had ever met, and now his hands were skating all over Niall’s skin like he wanted to mark every bit of Niall with his scent. Niall knows that the best thing for him to do is just to remain pliant and go along with whatever Zayn wants to do with him, as nervous as he might be, so he just shivers into Zayn’s touch and keeps his mouth shut.

The prince is removing his own shirt now, stripping it off quickly like he’s overheated. Niall catches sight of black ink stained into Zayn’s skin and his eyes widen. He’s only seen a few tattoos in his life, crudely done anchors and mermaids scratched into the skin of sailors passing through the pubs in his hometown. Zayn’s tattoos aren’t like those, though. What winds over his skin is more like art. The ink is sharp and clear against his skin, forming designs and patterns and what looks like Arabic script. Niall can barely read in his native language, so he has no idea what they say, but they’re beautiful. Niall’s gaze travels up Zayn’s chest, and he almost swallows his tongue when he sees the silver rings piercing both of his nipples. 

Zayn notices Niall’s eyes on him, and grins. “Like them? Niall nods reverently. “You can touch,” Zayn tells him. Niall reaches shaking fingers to Zayn’s chest and brushes a finger against a ring cautiously, and Zayn sighs. Emboldened, Niall puts his hands around Zayn’s sides and rubs both nipples with his thumbs.

Zayn moans lowly, fixing Niall’s eyes with his own. “That’s good, Niall,” he breathes, moving his hands to Niall’s face and kissing him again. Niall can no longer deny the definite heat of arousal pooling in the pit of his own stomach, and he can feel his cock stiffening where it’s rubbing on Zayn’s thigh. 

Zayn moves his hands to Niall’s sides, flips him underneath himself deftly. He doesn’t break the kiss, and Niall sees him reach up to the little table by the bed out of the corner of his eye.

“Ever done this before, Niall?”

Niall shakes his head and all of a sudden his nerves seem to catch up to him, and he stills in anticipation as Zayn’s fingers, shining with oil, moves down between where Niall’s legs are splayed apart beneath him.

“Good...” Zayn whispers, mostly to himself, as he regards Niall. “Don’t worry. I’ll take care of you.”

Zayn’s fingers are where nobody’s fingers besides Niall’s have ever been, rubbing and probing and Niall gasps. Zayn’s gentle and it doesn’t feel _bad,_ just weird to have someone else do this. Niall touches himself down there, comes best with two fingers in his ass, but he’s never tried more than that and he’s sure Zayn’s bigger.

Zayn’s slipped a couple fingers into Niall practically without him noticing and suddenly a third is teasing at the stretched rim of his entrance. Niall licks his lips nervously, grabs the bedsheet for security.

Zayn goes slow, to Niall’s surprise. He had supposed that the prince would just use him for his own pleasure, but he seems to be taking care to make Niall feel at ease. Niall’s grateful that Zayn even has the courtesy to prepare him.

It still burns when the third finger pushes its way in, but it doesn’t feel terribly bad, either. Niall is reminded of the first time he ever fingered himself - a strange and slightly uncomfortable feeling tinged with the promise of something nice to come.

Zayn seems to decide he’s waited long enough, then, because he finally unlaces the front of his own pants and rucks them off.

“My god,” Niall breathes, and maybe he should have foreseen it, because of the nipples, but there’s absolutely no way he could have expected the heavy silver ring piercing the head of Zayn’s thick cock.

Zayn just smirks. “Didn’t that hurt?” Niall breathes, awestruck. He’s completely forgotten about the three fingers stretching him gently, moving slowly inside of him. 

Zayn shrugs. “A little. Worth it, though.” He crooks his slender fingers inside Niall, and his entire body jumps, a breath whooshing out of his lungs and all he can think is _three is better than two three is better than two_ over and over in his head. Suddenly all he wants to know is how that silver ring might feel pressed into where Zayn’s fingers are right now.

Zayn must think that’s a good idea, too, because he withdraws his fingers and rubs some more oil over his erection, sighing at the contact. “Gonna feel so good,” he mutters at Niall, and then he’s easing himself in, hands hot where they’re bracing on the backs of his thighs.

Niall squeezes his eyes shut, and it isn’t exactly painful yet, just _intense_ and new and almost too much. 

Zayn mutters words Niall’s never even heard before, assumes he’s either praying or cursing. His hands are clasped around Niall’s hips, now, and his cock is all the way in. Niall’s fingers are still anchored in the bedsheets, his body tense as he tries to adjust to the vivid sensation.

“Niall. Relax,” Zayn says - more commands, than anything. Niall can’t help but do exactly what he says, and the moment he lets his muscles go limp, he feels better, feels like he can actually manage this. He’s never felt so full in his life, never felt so sensitive of everything around him. Zayn’s hands are steady on him, his face still calculated, and Niall’s grateful that someone’s keeping their head.

“Feels really good, Niall, fuck,” he growls, his hands squeezing hard at Niall’s hips. “All right?” he asks, peering down at Niall’s eyes.

Niall nods shakily, shifts his weight on the bed. Zayn’s hands move up to tangle in his hair as his hips begin to move, just shallow little thrusts at first. Niall can’t help the whine that escapes from him, and his hands move to clutch at Zayn’s sides, palms shaking against the outlines of his ribs.

Zayn’s mouth skates along Niall’s collarbone, sucking what will surely be big dark bruises into it. “So lovely,” he mutters. “Beautiful.” He straightens up, puts his hands flat on Niall’s chest. “Hang on,” he growls, and his hips nail straight into Niall with more purpose than before - once, twice, and then -

For the second time that night, Niall loses all of his breath as if Zayn’s cock has just punched it out of him. His mouth hangs open, the shock of pleasure that had lanced through him on the last thrust leaving him wordless.

“A-again, please,” he pants, and Zayn grins devilishly, bends to Niall’s ear.

“Tell me how good it feels, first, darling. My cock.”

Niall blushes in spite of the situation he’s already in, and turns his burning face to the side, against the sheets.

Zayn grabs his chin. “Niall. Don’t forget the rules.” His voice is low, warning, and it sends a jolt of nervousness through Niall that only seems to get him more desperate.

He swallows. “Please, y-your highness, it - it feels so good. I want more.”

Zayn hums, shifts his hips just a little to torture Niall. “How much do you want it, darling?”

“So b-bad, please...f-fuck me.” It’s quiet, but Zayn hears it, and his grin gets even wider, and he relents, finally fucking properly into Niall, bracing his hands against the mattress.

Niall makes a breathy little moan every time Zayn thrusts forward. He can feel his piercing jabbing into his prostate. It’s a million times better than anything he’d ever done with his fingers, and a lot more overwhelming. 

Zayn groans, low, above him, and his hips start stuttering into him, fucking into him so fast that Niall can’t really keep track of when the pleasure peaks, just starts meeting Zayn on his thrusts as climax begins sparking inside of him. Zayn hisses and digs nails into Niall’s side as his stomach muscles clench and Niall feels the prince coming, heat spreading deep inside of him. He keeps thrusting into Niall shallowly, and Niall finds himself losing control almost as soon as Zayn’s finished. 

Zayn watches Niall’s pretty little face screw up in pleasure, looking almost pained as he comes, spurting up along his flushed torso. He can’t help but smile a little himself, through the haze of his own release. 

Niall collapses back on the mattress, breathing heavily. He feels Zayn pull out of him gently, doesn’t think he quite has the impetus to move anything right now. He lets Zayn pull him over to the other side of the bed, away from the mess, and falls into his arms.

Zayn grins at the limp bundle in his arms. He loves having this effect on people, and it had been a good while since he’d had a virgin to deflower. He can feel Niall going to sleep where he’s cradled in Zayn’s arms, and Zayn presses himself closer and succumbs to his dreams.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes the sex has arrived. (porn is actually my favorite thing to write ever so expect tons)


	3. Part Three

Niall wakes up to an ache in his muscles and the urge for a wash. He tries to stretch and realizes that Zayn is still curled around his body, and he can’t help but smile a little. Who would have guessed that the prince was a cuddler?

Niall wants to get up and find some food and a washbasin, but as soon as he shifts his weight, Zayn’s arm tightens around his waist. Niall glances at his face and realizes with a start that his dark eyes are cracked open, watching him through slits.

“You’re staying here, lovely,” he says, voice deep and rasping. “Here.” He reaches a languid hand up to the little bell mounted on the wall above his headboard that Niall hadn’t noticed before, and rings it.

The tinkling noise is surprisingly loud, and in fifteen seconds a tall, curly-haired boy walks into the room with a pitcher of water and a sponge. Niall blushes furiously and grabs the silken sheets to cover himself up, but the boy sweeps his eyes up and down Niall’s body shamelessly anyway.

“Nice time, then?” he says to Zayn conversationally. Zayn hums, smiling dreamily, and the other boy moves to his side of the bed.

“Parents want to see you,” he tells Zayn as he rubs the sponge down his chest, cleaning him off affectionately. “I think they’ve already chosen your bride.”

Zayn’s eyes darken, and he turns to Niall. “Go on to the bathroom then, you can use the shower.”

Niall doesn’t know what a shower is, and he doesn’t know why someone as powerful as Zayn would have his bride chosen for him. But he isn’t about to disobey an order, and he hurries out of the room, wincing at the soreness lancing through his body. He hears Zayn whispering to Harry as he passes through the doorway.

He limps into the small room off of the lavish lounge that he assumes to be a washroom, and finds a sink with real running water - warm running water. He rinses his face, finds a cloth to wipe himself off. 

He’s poking around, trying to find some soap or something for his hair, when Zayn walks in. His hand is at the small of Niall’s back before he says anything.  
“I said you could use the shower,” he murmurs into Niall’s hair.

“I, uh,” Niall begins, blushing already. “I don’t know what that is.”

Zayn laughs incredulously. “You’ve never taken...a shower?”

Niall shrugs wordlessly.

Zayn reaches forward to mess with some metal fixtures and suddenly, water is hissing out of a nozzle above Niall’s eye level and pouring into a big porcelain tub. Zayn strips off all his clothes quickly and steps into the tub, sticking his face directly beneath the spray. He turns his face to Niall, water dripping from his lips and nose.

“C’mere.” He beckons Niall with his hand, and Niall has to admit that the warm water looks inviting. He kicks off the rest of his clothes and steps in cautiously, minding the slippery floor of the tub.

It’s easier to study his tattoos now, in the stark light pouring down through the window in the ceiling. As soon as Zayn sees Niall’s eyes tracing the ink flowing across his torso, he smirks and turns around, displaying his back to Niall. There’s passages in Arabic all down his spine, the script minute and elegant. The spread wings of a bird frame his lower back, feathers curving over the swell of his ass.

“You can touch,” Zayn hums, looking over his shoulder at Niall, gaze sinful. 

Niall raises shaky fingers to touch between Zayn’s shoulder blades, drags down his spine. Water follows his fingers in streams, collecting in little droplets between Zayn’s vertebrae. His fingers trail to the beginning of the bird’s delicate head and Niall feels the start of the softer skin that marks the start of Zayn’s ass before the prince grabs his wrist with a smirk. “Careful,” he tells Niall playfully.

Niall blushes, face suddenly more heated than the warm air around him. “I wasn’t -”

Zayn laughs, his voice pealing. “I was joking. Here. Wash my hair?” He carefully pours some liquid from a little glass bottle into Niall’s cupped hand.

Niall rubs the sweet-smelling soap into Zayn’s scalp wordlessly. He wants to know what Zayn had been whispering about as he left his bedroom, but knows he can’t just ask.

“That was Harry, by the way,” Zayn says after a minute of silence. “My attendant. He thinks he’s better than all the other servants, don’t let him intimidate you.” 

Niall nods, even though Zayn can’t see him.  
“I have to go,” Zayn goes on airily, as he pulls away from Niall’s hands and rinses his head underneath the water. “I’ll have Harry bring you some food. Make friends with Isa.” With that, he’s stepping out of the shower and grabbing a towel, rubbing his head absently as he saunters naked out of the bathroom.

Niall’s left standing alone under the stream of water, feeling even more disarmed than he had when he’d first met Zayn.

*

Zayn doesn’t come back for hours. After finishing his shower, Niall wraps himself in a big towel and wanders back into the lounge area, where he putters around for a while examining the paintings and tapestries on the walls. True to Zayn’s word, Harry shows up with a tray of food for Niall, and a change of clothes. The food is more than Niall ever had at home and better than what he’d gotten at the dealer’s house - slices of warm flatbread, some kind of pale, soft cheese, chunks of seasoned meat, and a bowl of sliced fruits that Niall doesn’t have names for.

After eating, he examines the garment that Harry has brought him, and sighs when he realizes it’s nothing more than an embarrassingly short silk robe, meant to be worn over other clothing. He slips into it, blushing faintly. The air is warm enough that no clothing is really necessary anyway, and his old clothes are quickly wearing thin. The silk is cool and light on his skin, so different than the rough canvas and homespun cloth he’s used to.

Niall’s beginning to realize the reason that Zayn’s skin is so impossibly soft, if all he has to do is sit around and take showers and wear silk all day. He rubs at the calluses on his own palms, the only reminder he has left of his old life. They, too, would soon disappear, Niall thinks to himself. That is, as long as Zayn doesn’t get bored with him. Then he’d probably just get sent to work in the fields or something.

He sits down on a velvet divan, yawns, and remembers how little sleep he’d gotten the night before. It might be a good idea to take a nap, while Zayn isn’t around and doesn’t appear to be returning anytime soon. Almost before he’s finished thinking it, his eyes are slipping closed and he settles back onto the divan.

 

Niall is jolted from his sleep when something touches his naked foot, and he flinches, thinking immediately of scorpions and snakes. What’s sniffing him, though, is just a little furry creature with big, pointed ears. A cat? No. Niall blinks as the little fox turns its gaze on his face, twitches its tail, and jumps up next to him on the divan he’s sitting on.

“Are you Isa?” Niall murmurs, Zayn’s words finally making sense to him. He touches the creature’s fur gingerly, surprised when it leans into his touch, looking for attention. Niall smiles and rubs the fox’s head.

It sits there, enjoying his touch for all of thirty seconds until its ears prick towards the doorway. Niall follows its gaze and a moment later, Zayn is in the doorway. Niall takes one look at his face and jerks his gaze away, trying to remain as still as possible. He looks murderous, his brow drawn close to his eyes and his jaw set. He’s wearing his circlet and just about drips with all the gold bangles and rings adorning his skin. Zayn blows past Niall without even acknowledging him. 

Niall risks a glance back to where Zayn is opening a cabinet and dragging out some oddly shaped piece of equipment, that he reaches back to set on the little end table next to the divan. Next, he takes a little ornate box from the cabinet and undoes the latch, removing a little lump of something or other and a razor that he uses to shave a couple slivers of the stuff into a hollow on top of the thing on the table.

He walks over to the little firestove in the corner of the room and pulls some small coals out of the bottom with the tongs, then puts them in the hollow with the slivers and quickly puts a piece of cloth over the top.

“Ever smoked?” he asks Niall without looking at him, concentrating on the smoke building in the chamber on the bottom of the thing.

Niall shakes his head dazedly, still a bit foggy from his nap and completely confused.

“I’ll show you,” Zayn says, and sits down next to Niall on the divan, moving the contraption between them. He picks up the little hose coming out of the chamber and takes it in his mouth. He sucks in a couple times, then pulls off and blows some smoke out through his nose.

Niall decides that the thing must be some overly ornate pipe, like the type that the bartender back at home used to smoke. He waits for Zayn to hand him the hose, but instead Zayn beckons him closer to where he’s sitting. 

“Just breathe in when I tell you, okay?” he rasps, and his voice is rough from the smoke. He takes another deep hit off the hose and leans in next to Niall’s mouth, beckoning at him. 

Niall opens his mouth, figuring out what Zayn’s planning just as his lips meet his and he breathes a gust of something heady and earthy into Niall’s mouth. Niall breathes in, just like Zayn told him, until Zayn pulls away.

“Hold it in,” he instructs Niall. “Till it burns.”

Niall sits there with his mouth clamped shut until his lungs tighten uncomfortably and he lets it all out in a big whoosh.

“Slow,” Zayn snaps. “You’re wasting it.”

Niall coughs, his eyes watering. “Sorry,” he gasps.

“Try again,” Zayn says. He sucks more into his own lungs, ripping on the hose impatiently.

This time Niall holds it in longer, and his lungs relax, and he doesn’t feel like he’s gotten any smoke until he opens up his mouth to tell Zayn and it comes billowing out slowly, licking through the air in front of him.

Niall’s pulse is speeding up, and he feels a little dizzy and grateful to be grounded on the divan.

“What is that?” he asks Zayn breathlessly, and Zayn gazes at him lazily from where he’s exhaling what must be his fifth or sixth hit.

“Hashish,” he says, and his voice takes a couple seconds to float over to Niall.

Niall just watches, mesmerized, as Zayn puffs out smoke rings with little spasms of his throat, three little ones in a row - or maybe it’s five, he can’t really tell, with the way that everything in the room is doubling itself and dancing jigs with the other objects. He just lays back and watches Zayn as the room fills with the haze of smoke. Every little breath he takes gets him a little higher, his brainwaves rollercoastering from _this is strange I don’t like this what’s going on_ to _this is nice I’d like to stay here forever._

Eventually, Zayn seems to get to where Niall is, too. He sets the hose down and puts the strange pipe device on the floor, and appears to levitate over to Niall.

“That’s cute,” he rasps, fingers scrabbling over Niall’s chest until he gets the silk pulled down from his shoulders. “You’re really gone.”

Niall nods in agreement, marveling at how interesting Zayn’s fingers feel dancing across his skin. The anger seems to have molten away from him, leaving nothing but bliss and want. He dips his head to mouth at Niall’s nipple and Niall’s head is much too hazy with the drug to make any protest.

“Does it make you horny?” Niall all but moans, the words tumbling out of his mouth like spilling liquid. He knows it’s a dumb thing to ask as soon as he says it, but he’s too high to care.

Zayn just smirks down at him, looking amused. “I was already. It probably helped, though. Take that off.”

Niall is just barely cognizant enough to follow his demands, and he slips the robe off just before Zayn pulls off his own shirt. Zayn leans forward to catch Niall’s lips with his own and pushes him back with the flat of his palm against the arm of the divan. The gold bracelets around his wrist are cool on Niall’s suddenly overheated skin. He reaches up to touch the rings through Zayn’s nipples, absorbed in how they reflect the light.

He doesn’t have long to admire, because Zayn is ducking back down to kiss him. His mouth tastes like the drug and his lips feel heavy against Niall’s. His hips are already bucking shallowly against Niall, and he grunts impatiently, presumably because of the lack of actual sex occurring. 

“M’gonna open you up with my tongue, kay, lover?” Zayn says, and through his high Niall thinks absently of how sweet it is that Zayn would call him that and doesn’t realize what he’s actually said he’s going to do until he’s ducked between his legs and kissing at his inner thighs. Niall barely has time to prepare himself before Zayn’s warm tongue is sweeping across his entrance, laving broad strokes against him. Niall goes completely boneless, his hands falling limp at his sides. He’d like to tangle them in Zayn’s hair, to just anchor his head down so he’ll never stop what he’s doing, but knows he can’t touch the prince without permission.

It’s a little bit like being high, what he’s feeling between his legs - a mix of euphoria and too much. He doesn’t realize he’s whining until the high-pitched sound cuts through to his own ears. Zayn raises his head up to look at Niall, smirking wickedly and licking his lips.

“Feel good?” he asks, and Niall nods fervently, wanting Zayn to go back to rimming him. Thankfully, Zayn’s smirk only deepens and he ducks back down, licking into Niall deeper and more emphatically than before. Niall doesn’t know how much license he has, but he can’t stop his hips from bucking a little into Zayn. Zayn’s slim fingers move to Niall’s hips, anchoring him in place while he flicks his tongue into Niall repeatedly.

Niall’s trying to hold himself back but can’t help but strain against Zayn’s steadfast hands. The room is swimming before him again and he can’t tell if it’s from the pleasure or the hashish or both. He’s already achingly hard, wanting desperately to just be touched or fucked or something.

Finally, Zayn relents and raises his head again. Niall whines at the lack of contact, and Zayn smirks again. “Something you want?” he asks lowly.

Niall’s almost expecting it because of what Zayn made him say last time, and the drug coursing through his system makes it easier for the words to tumble out.

“F-fuck me, please,” he says, and again, his words come out more like a wanton moan than he had planned.

Zayn grins - he must have a thing for hearing that, Niall thinks - and spits into his palm, rubbing his own erection slowly.

He slides into Niall, and Niall feels the stretch but not the burn and knows that the drug is muting the pain. Zayn leans over him to whisper at his ear.

“You’re so cute. First time getting fucked and now your first time being high. Don’t you feel lucky?” His voice is smug. His hips grind away into Niall, not quite fucking him properly yet.

Niall isn’t able to form words at this point. Somehow, Zayn’s managed to locate his prostate already and sparks of pleasure are racing up and down his nerve endings, amplified by the hashish. The quality of Zayn’s face looming over him seems to be changing, going blurry and indistinguishable and then sharpening into heightened focus a moment later. His pupils are blown, eyes sparkling. His hands, somehow still steady while Niall's are trembling and clenching at the velvety material of the divan, move to Niall's sides and squeeze - hard enough that it might hurt if Niall were feeling a little more cognizant, and certainly hard enough to bruise. Niall gazes down at the purple bruises blooming across his hips already from the night before and a shiver goes through him. 

Suddenly, Zayn, who looks a bit cross that not all of Niall’s attention is focused on him, leans forward and nips at Niall’s neck, his hips pounding harder into him. Niall can feel the pleasure curling in his stomach already, and he blames it on the drug, because he lasted longer than this even last night. He turns his head away from Zayn’s searching mouth to gasp for air.

“I’m - I’m gonna -”

Zayn is suddenly all business again, straightening up and slowing, grinding his hips into Niall.  
“Not till I’m finished, you won’t.” His face is rather stormy, and instead of helping, his drawn brow and set jaw just make Niall’s belly flip and his cock twitch. Zayn must sense how close he is, because he reaches down to hold the base of Niall’s cock to keep him from coming.

Niall’s almost painfully aroused, and he whimpers, thrashing around and feeling completely trapped. Zayn’s hips have lost any sense of rhythm, and he’s just pounding into Niall over and over.

Suddenly, he curses, and his cock jerks inside of Niall as he grips Niall’s hips to him, hugging the boy to his body. Niall gasps at the familiar feeling of Zayn’s come rushing into him, painfully aware of Zayn’s hand still holding his cock and stopping him from coming himself. Somehow, Zayn’s grip remains gentle through his entire orgasm, and when he’s regained steady breath, he looks up at Niall with dark eyes.

“Good job, darling,” he says, voice rough. “You can come now, okay?”

He moves his hand on Niall’s cock, stroking instead of restricting, and Niall is so ready that he comes helplessly five seconds later, rutting his hips up into Zayn’s hand.

Zayn reaches up fondly and pushes Niall’s bangs off of his sweaty forehead. The surreal edge of the drug has dulled, but Niall still feels like he could take off into the air at any moment, feels like he weighs absolutely nothing.

“Come on,” Zayn tells him, and leads him into his bedroom.

They curl together underneath the blankets. Niall knows he shouldn’t ask, but the drug uninhibits his tongue and it slips out.

“Why were you angry? Earlier?”

Zayn looks at him, silent for a moment. Niall thinks he’s going to yell at him, but the prince’s voice is gentle when he speaks. 

“It’s nothing you have to worry about, Niall.” He sounds almost fond, his hand stroking Niall’s bare back tenderly. Niall feels a surge of something new in his chest - not apprehension or confusion - but security. And he knows it’s probably just the drug and the sex warping his thoughts, but he feels nothing other than affection for the person he’s curled up with.


	4. Part Four

When Niall wakes up, Zayn is gone, and he sighs. It isn’t that simple, really - Niall wakes up, has to pry his eyes open because they seem to be crusted shut, and tries to swallow the disgusting taste in his mouth but has trouble because his tongue has seemingly turned into a block of wood. His entire body is sore, and he has that foggy feeling in his head that signifies that he doesn’t know what time of day it is and that his sleep rhythm will probably be skewed for days. He decides it’s a good thing that Zayn won’t see him like this. Then he sighs.

He doesn’t remember a lot of the night before - mostly just Zayn’s anger and his tongue and his tender words in bed afterwards. Niall drags himself off of the bed, not wanting to try to process that just now. He goes to the bathroom and fiddles with the faucets in the bath for several minutes before he manages to turn on the shower again. He sits on the floor of the shower and begins to think.

He really should be more angry. He should be plotting a way to escape from Zayn’s chambers right now. In all reality, he could probably just walk out. He didn’t know what he would do if he could manage to leave the palace, but he would be free. But he isn’t feeling an impulse to leave. He wants to stay in this place full of silk and hot water and getting enough to eat. He almost hates himself a little bit for it. He feels more secure than he has since his parents died, though. He can’t remember the last time that he was clean and rested and not plagued by hunger pangs.

Then there’s Zayn. Prince Zayn. Self-assured, intimidating Prince Zayn. Niall should hate him. Should want to kill Zayn for treating him as a possession to be used however he sees fit. But all he feels when he conjures up Zayn’s image in his mind is a little tickle in his stomach that’s a mix of nerves and hope. Niall scrubs the heels of his palms across his eyes, deciding to concentrate on the beating of the water on his back instead.

He’s almost managed to get to a worry-free place in his mind when he hears the shower curtain being thrown to the side, and he yelps as he scrambles to stand up and cover himself. Standing there, regarding him with a smirk, is Zayn’s attendant. Harry.

“You aren’t supposed to be in here,” he says, smugly. “This is the prince’s personal washroom.”

“H-he...he told me I could come in,” Niall stammers, blushing furiously.

Harry rolls his eyes. “I’m trying to clean. Go on.”

Niall clambers out of the bathtub wordlessly, face still burning. He finds a towel and wraps himself in it, shivering a little as he glances back at Harry. 

“I brought you some food,” he calls from where he’s crouched in the washbasin.

“Thanks,” Niall says, walking into the lounge area where a tray of food is perched on an end table. He tucks in to the rice dish that Harry has brought him, foregoing the chilled water for the little flask of wine standing on the tray.

Ten minutes later, Harry is exiting the bathroom, lugging a bucket of dirty water.

“Zayn won’t be back in for a couple of hours. He’s with his fiancée,” he explains. “If you like, I’ll show you around the palace.”

Fiancée. Niall’s mind grips onto the word uncomfortably. He’d forgotten Harry’s mention of Zayn’s parents choosing him a bride, and thinking about it now is for some reason more disagreeable. He shoves the thought to the back of his mind, deciding that if he has a chance to get out of Zayn’s quarters for a little while, it’ll probably benefit his mental health.

“Sure,” he tells Harry. Harry’s eyes light up and Niall is instantly grateful for his decision. Maybe Harry is just as bored as he is.

*

“And this is the main kitchen,” Harry announces. Niall’s staring in awe at the huge, bustling room. It seems to be located below ground level, the roaring ceiling-high oven casting a subterranean glow across the space. 

“Is it always this busy?” Niall asks timidly. There’s people dashing in and out of the kitchen’s many entrances, barking orders at each other and preparing food with frightening speed.

Harry shakes his head. “There’s a guest tonight. Royal delegation from France. Marquis Troy and his family. His son is a good friend of Zayn’s.”

Niall nods silently, his eyes trained on what appears to be a roasted peacock surrounded by servants who are re-attaching its tail feathers.

“Come on with me,” Harry tells him. “I’ve got to show you the best part.”

*

The garden is like nothing Niall has ever seen before, and he assumes that this is how it must look where tigers and elephants live. The explosion of greenery in the middle of the desert is nearly blinding, a shock of green on top of the beiges and tans that Niall’s become acclimated to. The courtyard is surrounded on every side with the walls of the palace, creating a enclosed open space. Palm trees and exotic flowers occupy the expansive state, and Niall can spot brightly coloured birds pacing the ground. 

“Zayn had it planted,” Harry says airily. “He likes having things that no one else can have. You should see how much water they have to carry in to keep it going.”  
Niall can hear the burble of running water from where they’re standing on the porch bordering the copse of trees. “Is there a fountain?” he asks, picturing the little bubbler in Zayn’s lounge.

Harry shakes his head and smiles. “Let me show you.” He leads Niall through the topiary, the sound of water steadily progressing until it sounds more like a roar. When the trees part, Niall gasps at the waterfall that’s revealed, gleaming in the sunlight. He doesn’t get to admire for long though, because Harry mutters a curse and grabs Niall, dragging him back around the corner of the rock face that the water tumbles from.

“Look,” he hisses. “He’s in here. We aren’t supposed to be here, we have to go.”

Niall peers around the corner, and sure enough, there’s Zayn, sitting cross-legged on a lounge chair and sipping on some drink. He’s talking to someone, and Niall cranes his neck a little further to reveal a pretty bleach blonde sitting in a chair beside Zayn, smiling widely at whatever he’s saying. “Is that-?”

Harry shoves past him to take a look. “Shit. Yeah, that’s her. Shit, we have to leave. Right now. Be quiet.”

They scurry out of the garden, Harry taking anxious glances over his shoulder every other stride. Niall’s face is burning and he doesn’t know why, doesn’t know how to explain it any more than he could explain the strange, desolate feeling in the pit of his stomach when he saw the woman with Zayn.

 

Harry’s flopped on the velvet divan, having given up on trying to converse with Niall, who’s pacing. 

“What’s her name?” he asks Harry tightly.

“Uh. It’s weird, don’t remember. P-something. She’s from England. She’s like, Europe’s most eligible princess.” Harry’s messing around with Zayn’s hookah, the cloth he’s supposed to be using to clean it laying on the cushion next to him. He cuts his eyes to Niall. “Jealous or something?”

Niall sits down with a sigh. “No. It’s just. I wonder if she knows about me?” he lies.

Harry shrugs. “Probably. I mean, I wouldn’t be surprised if she has her own. Concubines, I mean. They all do.”

Niall shakes his head. “It’s just weird. How he could go from sleeping with one person to another just like that.” He knows he sounds bitter, doesn’t really care.

“It really is, isn’t it?” Harry says. Niall can’t tell if he’s making up things he hasn’t heard, but he could swear he hears a certain measure of bitterness in Harry’s voice as well.

 

Niall’s trying to fall asleep that night when he hears the crash of some piece of furniture echo from the lounge. He jumps off of the bed and peers around the doorframe.

Zayn is trying to right the end table that he’d apparently run into, but Niall thinks his sense of balance must be affected, because every time he tips the table up, he pushes it a little too far and it falls over the other way.

Presently, he gives up and swings his foot at the table but misses, swears, and turns toward the bedroom. His face splits into a grin when he sees Niall.

“Nahhhhlll,” he slurs, and stumbles into him, pressing into Niall’s back with his hands and pulling him close. Niall can smell the alcohol on him, and his mouth tastes sickly sweet when he pushes his lips against Niall’s.

“You are drunk,” Niall tells him.

Zayn giggles and cards his fingers through Niall’s hair, drops his lips to Niall’s neck and mouths open kisses onto his skin. “Yeah,” he says. “A little.” His hands reach lower, squeeze Niall’s ass through thin silk. Niall stiffens, but stays still. He doesn’t particularly want to have sex right now, especially with the knowledge of how Zayn had spent the day fresh in his mind. 

Zayn pauses, sensing Niall’s discomfort. “All right?”

Niall shrugs. “I, uh, saw you with that princess.”

Zayn nods. “Yeah. Jus’ gettin to know her, cos I guess we’re gonna have to get married.” He laughs again, apparently thinking the notion humorous.

Niall stays silent, and Zayn grabs his chin. When Niall meets his eyes, they’re filled with mirth.

“Are you _jealous_ , pet?” he purrs, suddenly seeming more focused. 

Niall goes bright red. “N-no. I just think it’s weird to have sex with lots of people!”

Zayn really loses it then, having to hang on to Niall’s shoulders to stay upright. “You’re silly. You don’t have to worry anyway. We aren’t having sex. Come sit down with me.”

He leads Niall to the bed, swaying a little. “This is all about politics, Niall. My parents chose Perrie to be my bride because they want to strengthen our relationship with her home country.”

“Oh,” Niall mutters, staring at his hands. He feels stupid for making such a fuss over what is apparently nothing. 

“I’m flattered that you’re concerned, though,” Zayn says smugly. He moves his hand back into Niall’s hair, pulling him into another kiss. Niall relaxes, this time, lets Zayn’s tongue wander into his mouth. A moment later, Zayn sinks to his knees in front of Niall.

Niall gapes at him, unsure, and Zayn smirks. He scrabbles at the front of Niall’s robe until he has it undone and nuzzles Niall’s already half-hard cock.

Niall’s thigh jumps as Zayn grips him in a fist and licks a stripe up the underside of his cock. This isn’t something he was expecting at all, but Zayn seems to be enjoying himself thoroughly.

“Y-your highness,” he starts, and Zayn raises an eyebrow at him from where he’s kissing the tip of Niall’s cock.

“Just relax,” he murmurs. 

Niall’s fingers twist into the sheets as Zayn swallows him down, humming happily and bracing his hands on Niall’s hips. He’s quite good at what he’s doing, probably better than Niall would be. He keeps his teeth out of the way while his tongue flicks along Niall’s cock, making him squirm. He’s trying not to struggle against Zayn’s hands, but all he wants to do is buck his hips up and bury his hands in Zayn’s hair. 

Zayn draws off of his cock, and his lips are swollen and shining as he regards Niall with hooded eyes. “Silly, jealous, pet,” he coos as he strokes Niall’s cock with his hand, catching a bead of precome with his tongue before it drips down the head. 

“M’not jealous,” Niall insists through gritted teeth, though the more he thinks about it the more it seems to match up with the sick feeling he gets when he pictures Zayn and the girl. Perrie.

Zayn just grins up at him. “Course not.” His voice is a little hoarse, and Niall’s cock twitches against his fingers to hear it.

Zayn goes back to work, lips sliding so far down Niall’s cock that the tip of Zayn’s nose nudges his lower stomach. Niall can feel himself tightening up as Zayn flutters his tongue against his cock and a hand moves to squeeze Niall’s balls.

“I’m - I’m gonna -” he grits out, and Zayn looks up at him and carefully slides off his cock. He strokes Niall until he’s tipped back on the bed, elbows resting on the bed to hold himself up and hips bucking into Zayn’s hand. 

Zayn watches in fascination as Niall climaxes, aiming the stream of come away from his face. Once Niall’s stopped trembling, Zayn pulls his own shirt off and wipes Niall up with it, then tosses it on the floor and slides onto the bed next to him.

Niall opens his eyes again when he feels Zayn’s lips at his ear. He still reeks of alcohol, but Niall couldn’t care less.

“Don’t be jealous, babe. You’re lovely,” comes Zayn’s stilted whisper.

Niall heaves a sigh and turns onto his side. “Can I ask you a question?”

Zayn stares up at the ceiling. “You already did. But yes.”

“Why do you do that? Like, why did you just do that? Make me feel nice, I mean. I mean it’s great. I love it. I just - I’m here for your pleasure. Why do you put effort into me?” Niall bites his lip as soon as he’s done saying it, regretting it almost instantly. The thought had been eating at him for a while, but he’d never thought he would find the courage to actually ask Zayn about it.

Zayn lets a breath out and turns to face Niall, a little smile on his face. “I guess I just like making other people feel nice, you know? I like to know that I can make you come. Not just you. Anyone who I sleep with, I like the feeling that I get when I can get them to come apart. I suppose it’s just an extension of my vanity.” He laughs a little wildly and hugs Niall in close to him. “It pleases me to know that I’m pleasing others. There.”

Niall laughs a little too, relieved, and puts a hand on Zayn’s hot shoulder. He’ll probably be hungover and grumpy in the morning, but right now Niall feels content. He’s glowing from his orgasm, but the better feeling is the satisfaction seeping through him at Zayn’s affirmation that Niall is the only one in his bed.


	5. Chapter 5

Niall wakes to the sight of a very naked Zayn walking into his room, toweling his damp hair with a scowl on his face. He shifts the blanket to let Zayn know that he’s awake, but doesn’t say anything.

Zayn flops onto the mattress, making Niall bounce heavily. Niall smirks when he remembers how drunk Zayn had been the night before. He turns over in bed to see Zayn laying on his stomach, head buried in his pillow.

“Hungover?” Niall chirps. Zayn lifts his head to scowl at him momentarily and lets his head fall back into his arms.

“Rub my back.” His voice is muffled. “Now.”

Niall grins and heaves himself up. He finds himself a lot less intimidated by Zayn’s insistent tone than he would have been just a few days ago. Finds it almost endearing.

Zayn groans when Niall starts kneading his shoulders, gradually working down to the small of his back and grinding the heels of his palms into the sore muscle.

“Shit, Niall. Where’d you learn to do that?”

Niall beams, and shrugs. “Worked shoeing horses back home. Gave me strong hands.”

Zayn practically purrs underneath him, melting onto the mattress. “Good boy.”

Niall blushes brightly and continues to massage Zayn’s back silently, hands gliding over the script inked into him. 

“There’s someone I want you to meet,” Zayn murmurs into the bedding. “Friend of mine.”

“The one from France?” Zayn turns his head to look at Niall with narrowed eyes. “Harry told me,” Niall clarifies quickly. “He showed me around.”

“Mm,” Zayn says, burying his face back into his pillow. “Yeah. Marquis Troy and his family.”

Niall swallows, and his heart stutters a little. He honestly hadn’t thought that he was good enough to be shown off to anyone the way that Zayn seems to want to.

“I have lunch with his son in an hour. You’ll like him. He’s a lot like me.”

*

He gives Niall some decent clothes for once, but they’re still looser and silkier than anything Niall is used to. Zayn, at least, seems at ease in his own garment, which barely accomplishes its essential purpose of covering him.

It’s the first time that Niall’s seen the dining hall - Harry hadn’t taken him in since it was being used when he’d given him a tour. He’d been expecting something grand, something to match the rest of the palace, but he can’t keep his mouth from dropping a little as the double doors swing open.

“Mum and dad say it’s their chance to make a good first impression,” Zayn sneers, eyeing the vaulted ceilings with contempt. “I think it’s tacky, but, of course, they’ve never valued my opinion...”

Niall doesn’t respond, too entranced by the opulence surrounding him. The floor that he’s walking on is a beautiful mosaic of brightly colored tiles that flash light at him every time he takes a step. The columns that run the length of each side of the hall are so brilliant that Niall thinks they must be painted in molten gold. They seem to tower almost higher than Niall can crane his head to look at, and the jewels studded into the ceiling twinkle down at him with the impression of multicolored stars.

He’s so absorbed by all the splendour that he fails the notice the three people sitting at the distant end of the extensive table until Zayn leads him to within a few feet of their chairs. One is Harry, and he winks at Niall discreetly. The other two are men about his age who Niall has never seen before. One surveys him with a lofty sweep of his eyes and the other meets his gaze earnestly.

“I see his royalty has seen fit to join us,” the first drawls, and Zayn grins.

“Well, since his majesty saw fit to steal away my attendant, I didn’t have much of a choice,” he shoots back. “This is Earl Louis of France,” he tells Niall, and his eyes are sparkling with a mirth that Niall has never seen in him before. “And Louis, this is -”

“Your new plaything,” Louis cuts in with a smirk, eyes flicking between Zayn and Niall, who’s face is rapidly flushing.

Zayn rolls his eyes. “Niall.”

“Hope he hasn’t been too rough with you love.” Louis winks at Niall, then gestures to the third person, sitting to his left. “This is Liam, by the way. My attendant.” Liam smiles sincerely at Niall, his brown eyes crinkling a little.

With that, the smaller doors on the opposite side of the hall swing open, and a group of servants march out with the meal. It’s some sort of roasted beast that Niall doesn’t have a name for, with gilded antlers still attached to it. One of the servants begins to carve it with a forked blade while the rest set dishes of salads, pies, and more meat on the table. It’s more food than the five of them could hope to eat in a day, but if there’s one thing that Niall’s learned, it’s that most things done in the palace are for appearance’s sake.

Zayn and Louis chatter away throughout the entire meal, with Harry occasionally interjecting something, but Liam and Niall stay quiet. Liam’s eyes stay cast downward, focusing on his food and only looking up when someone addresses him, which isn’t often.

Niall’s too nervous to eat a lot, but a sense of pride is swelling in his stomach. He doesn’t know just why Zayn seems to think that Niall is important enough accompany him to lunch with the Earl of France, but it feels nice to think that someone cares about him. For a moment, he has an overwhelming desire to scoot his chair closer to Zayn and snuggle into his side, but he chides himself as soon as the thought occurs. It was silly to think something like that about a prince, he tells himself. Zayn probably just wanted to show him off to Louis because of how expensive he had been.

*

It isn’t evening yet when they return to Zayn’s quarters, but Zayn doesn’t disappear like he usually does.

“I’m gonna...take a shower, if that’s okay,” Niall says softly. He hadn’t gotten the chance in the morning.

“Of course, go ahead,” Zayn says as he hoists Isa up into his arms and flops onto a couch. Being around Louis had certainly put him in good humour, so Niall supposes he can at least thank the snippy earl for that much.

The shower is nice and quiet and gives him a place to think a little bit - but not too much, because he has to walk right out and face Zayn again when he’s done, so he doesn’t want to have an emotional breakdown or anything. 

He’s utterly confused by the prince’s behavior. When Niall had first arrived at the palace, he’d treated him as nothing more than a plaything, like Louis had said. But Zayn seems to be treating him as more of an equal as time goes by, and Niall is starting to feel less intimidated by and more affectionate toward him. It’s possible that he’s just imagining it all, and that his mind is just constructing some fantasy to cope with the fact that he’s ended up as a sex slave in the palace of a prince with an ego problem.

Niall watches the water swirl down the drain between his feet, and wishes half heartedly that he could escape as easily - though to where, he wouldn’t know.

 

He leaves the bathroom fifteen minutes later, his body smelling sweet in a way he isn’t used to. He rubs his hair absently with a towel as he walks into the lounge and nearly trips over Isa, who looks up at him with pinned ears.

“Oops,” Niall says quietly. He steps around the little fox, and then his eyes travel up to where Zayn has been reclining on the divan, and his eyes nearly pop out of his head.

He’s naked again, his silken garment in a pile on the floor. His eyes are narrowed to slits, and he stares at Niall intensely as his hand moves up and down his cock lazily.

“Come over here, Niall.”

Niall swallows and does as he says, feet feeling as though they’re floating above the floor as his eyes zero in on the way that the piercing through the head of Zayn’s cock reflects the low light in the room with a glint. 

He perches awkwardly at the foot of the couch and a tiny glass bottle hits him in the chest. “Get yourself ready,” Zayn tells him. “I’ll watch.”

Niall unscrews the cap from the bottle and pours a measure of the sweet-smelling oil into his palm. He glances between it and Zayn, heart thumping. Zayn gives a miniscule nod of his head.

Niall spreads some of the oil to his fingertips and reaches below himself hesitantly, breath hitching when his fingertips catch on his entrance. Zayn stares intently, his hand not leaving his own cock. He takes the bottle from Niall and smooths some oil over his own erection, sighing. 

Niall begins to lean back but Zayn grabs his hip, stopping him. “Want you to ride me, instead,” he murmurs, eyes dark and sparkling. Niall licks his lips nervously, and lets Zayn guide him by the hips until he’s positioned straight over where his cock is standing lewdly. Niall’s hands fall to Zayn’s chest, and he bites his lip as Zayn grins reassuringly at him. His hand’s at his cock now, ready for Niall to sink down onto it.

He goes too fast, at first, and winces, but Zayn’s other hand flies to his hip to steady him. “Careful,” he mutters quietly, and Niall continues to ease down on him more slowly. When he finally meets Zayn’s hips, he shudders in a breath. He can feel it more intensely at this angle, and watching Zayn’s smouldering eyes burning into him is doing nothing to lessen the sensation.

“Good,” he breathes when Niall glances up at him. He flexes his hips gently up and Niall makes a little noise of surprise, the pads of his fingers pressing into Zayn’s chest. Zayn’s hands move to his hips and hold him in place gently while he starts grinding up into Niall, hips rolling rhythmically.  
As the friction begins to build, Niall’s breaths become shorter and shallower and the intensity of the stretch begins trickling away into flickers of pleasure curling in his belly.

“Feel good, babe?”

Niall swallows. Zayn’s hand has found his cock, and he’s stroking over it and rubbing his palm over the head on the upstroke. “Yeah. Really...really good,” he sighs, head tilting back, palms splayed on Zayn’s chest.

“Why don’t you ride me, Niall.” His hands leave Niall’s body, falling to the cushions of the couch.

Niall sips a breath and starts shifting his hips experimentally, finding that it sends shocks of sensation up and down his spine. He’s able to set a steady pace quickly, liking the control he has this way.

Zayn props his hands behind his head and stares up at Niall lazily, obviously content to let him do the work. His breath hitches occasionally when Niall sinks down onto him, the only indication besides the glitter of his eyes that he’s affected.

Niall’s not quite as collected - his body is flushed pink like it always is when he’s flustered, and little gasps of air continuously escape him. The position that he’s in allows him to direct Zayn’s cock right where he wants it, as fast as he wants it. He’s moaning dirtily soon, grinding down onto Zayn’s lap. Zayn raises one dark eyebrow up at him, and then he moves a hand down to Niall’s hip again.

“You’re something else,” he mumbles offhandedly, and Niall’s only able to glance at him with hazy eyes before Zayn starts stroking his cock again and he squeezes his eyes shut.

Niall feels his orgasm sneaking up on him and half expects Zayn to deny him again like he had last time, but he only watches with a smile tinging his lips as Niall slowly comes apart, bucking his hips between Zayn’s cock and his fist. He practically yelps when he finally comes violently all over Zayn’s hand, and it takes a couple minutes for his breathing to return to a normal rate.

When it does, he looks up through his sweaty bangs to the prince and feels another bolt of arousal roil through him even though he’s completely spent. Zayn is licking his fingers clean of Niall’s come, looking pleased as can be while staring at Niall with narrowed eyes. Zayn still feels like a live wire underneath him, hot and pent up and powerful. Niall stares up at him helplessly, still shaky from his orgasm. His legs are aching from working himself up and down on Zayn’s cock and he feels like he’s ready to turn to jelly despite the fact that Zayn’s still inside him.

Zayn only smirks, grasps Niall’s hips firmly, and rockets his hips up into Niall, making him gasp and fall forward onto Zayn’s chest. Zayn’s hands find his ass and he kneads the skin there, lips latching onto Niall’s neck as he fucks into him harder than ever.

Finally, he comes with a growl into Niall’s skin, and Niall shudders as he feels Zayn’s cock twitch inside of him. Zayn stays strained up into him for a moment, then lets out a breath against his neck and kisses the spot where his teeth had left an indent. He pulls carefully out of Niall and helps him up. Niall blushes and stands off of the couch, because he’s a mess and he doesn’t want to get anything on the furniture, but Zayn frowns and hooks an arm around his waist to pull him back to his side.

He kisses Niall voraciously. Every time Niall has to stop to breathe, Zayn recaptures his lips insistently before he can even get a full breath in. He’s lightheaded but euphoric, the rub of Zayn’s soft lips and the prickle of his stubble and the heat of his breath on his skin sending his mind into overload.

Zayn sits up eventually and leads Niall to a part of the bathroom that Niall hadn’t taken notice of before, a sunken square of tiled floor off to the corner. Zayn pulls a lever near the rim and a faucet begins pouring steaming water into the inset basin. He pulls Niall down with him and lays back against the sloped side, fiddling with the faucet with his foot to turn it off once the basin is full. 

The warm water surrounding him is even better than the shower, Niall thinks, and he practically melts into Zayn as he rubs his hand up and down Niall’s back, lips dancing along his jaw and face. He moves back to Niall’s lips soon, and though he’s sore, Niall kisses back. Zayn doesn’t taste foreign anymore, like he had the first time they’d kissed. Niall doesn’t know if it’s because they’ve kissed so much in the past few minutes that he just tastes like Niall or if he’s become completely accustomed to the prince already.

“M’gonna keep you forever, little pet,” Zayn mutters against his lips, kissing and kissing like he wants to swallow Niall whole.

The comment strikes Niall as something that should make him feel terrified, but what scares him more than anything is the way that his stomach does an excited little flip at Zayn’s words as he kisses back even harder.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the /drama/

The sun shines down brightly on his face, and Niall knows that he should get into the shade so that he doesn’t burn, but it just feels so nice. It seems like a shame to interrupt the soft calls of the birds roosting in the trees around him, but he has to respond to what Harry’s been explaining to him at some point.

“Well, how do you know that he wants you?”

Harry shakes his head next to him.”I suppose I don’t really know, but the way he looks at me just gives me this feeling. And he says things to me that shouldn’t seem dirty, but they do.”

Niall sighs. “Yeah, I know what you mean.” He glances over at the boy lying next to him. “Wouldn’t that be something. Harry and the earl of France.”

Harry snorts. “It’s not as if he’s going to whisk me off his palace. For one thing, I don’t think Zayn would allow it. And I don’t think coming home with some servant boy from a distant land is really the proper thing for royalty to be doing.”

Niall’s silent for a moment, thinking. 

“Yeah. I guess it isn’t.”

His voice must carry a measure of melancholy because Harry turns onto his side to look at him with wide, concerned eyes. “I didn’t mean that -”

Niall shakes his head. “It’s fine. I don’t mind.”

Harry rolls onto his back again and leans up on an elbow. “I have to go to the market this afternoon. Do you want to come with me?”

“Yes,” Niall replies immediately. He’s been thinking that some time away from the palace might do him well. Spending time in the courtyard among the sun and fresh air is nice, but it doesn’t do much to suppress the feeling of containment that’s growing more urgent with every day he spends inside the palace. At home, he’d be outdoors for the better part of the day. Here, he’s stuck inside with Harry and a temperamental, sexually devious prince. There are other people in the palace, of course, but they don’t seem to acknowledge Niall. They notice him, but their eyes are quick to flash away as though he’s some sort of forbidden subject. Which, Niall thinks to himself wryly, he probably is. He knows Zayn wouldn’t want anyone even thinking about touching something that belongs to him.

*

After lunch, Niall nips back to Zayn’s quarters to find himself some shoes. He’s become accustomed to going barefoot in the smooth tile and cushy rugs of the palace. He knows he won’t find anything like his old work boots that the slave dealer had thrown out when he’d fallen into his clutches, but he’s hoping at least for some sandals.

The lounge is empty, and Niall begins rooting through the various drawers in the chest of cabinets against the far wall. He finds what he’s looking for in the bottom row and, grinning, slips his feet into sandals that are only a little too small.

“Not planning on making a getaway, are we?”

Niall whirls around, eyes searching for the source of the silky voice until they land on Zayn, leaning against the doorframe with an eyebrow cocked and arms crossed.

Niall laughs nervously. “I’m going to the marketplace with Harry...if that’s all right?”

Zayn saunters over to him and raises a hand to Niall’s hair, tucking a strand back into place without speaking. “I suppose that would be fine,” he murmurs. “But you’ll have to be cautious. Lots of bad men out there who would like to steal a pretty thing like you away.”

Niall swallows. “I’ll - I’ll be careful.”

Zayn smiles. “Good. You’re lucky, you know. Getting out. I have a date tonight.” His tone is bitter, and Niall can’t help but be amused. 

“With the princess?” he asks.

Zayn sighs. “Of course. You know, it’s funny.” His hand moves to stroke Niall’s hair again. “The blonde works so well on you. With her, I just feel I’m going to be blinded.”

Niall giggles and ducks out from under his hand. “I said I’d meet Harry by the gates in a few minutes.”

Zayn nods. “Have fun. I’ll see you later.”

Niall leaves the room with an extra bounce in his step. A week ago, he never would have thought that he could converse so simply with Zayn, but he finds himself actually enjoying his company more and more.

Harry’s waiting by the gates, just as promised. “Someone’s glowing,” he remarks as Niall approaches. “Get some fun in just now?”

Niall blushes. “No. He has to go see the princess.”

“Ah,” Harry. “So it’s just his presence.”

Niall shrugs, face still flushed. “Are we just walking?” he asks, quickly changing the subject.

Harry grins. “No. We have permission to use the royal stables.”

The horses in the airy stalls lining the aisle of the stable are different from anything Niall’s used to. They’re rangy and high-strung, pacing their boxes to get a good look at their visitors. Their coats gleam like gold in the sunlight, and Niall can’t help but think of how well they fit in with everything else in the palace.

“I’m taking Kareem,” Harry announces. “Could you get out Marzuq for him?” he asks the stable boy, who nods and grabs a halter that appears to be studded in jewels from a hook on the wall.

“They have horses in Ireland, right?” Harry asks Niall from where he’s swinging a saddle onto his own mount.

Niall nods. “They’re a little different, though.” The golden horse that the stable hand leads out of its stall glances at him with widened eyes.

“Don’t worry. Marzuq’s a big baby.” Harry’s smiling down at him from where he’s already perched on top of his own horse. “Worst he’ll do is chew your toe because he thinks it’s a carrot.”

The ride to the marketplace is dusty and hot, and they trot their horses down the side of the road that’s partially shaded by palm trees. The palace is only a couple miles away from the marketplace and they arrive at a post just outside the first stalls of the market where they tie their horses after half an hour’s leisurely ride.

“What do you have to get here, anyway?” asks Niall as Harry consults a list he had tucked into his back pocket. 

Harry rolls his eyes. “A few things for Zayn. One of the scribes is supposed to go out and buy everything the palace needs, but he only does that once a week and Zayn needs it now.”

The market is an overwhelming assault on the senses. Anywhere Niall turns, exotic smells and fanciful objects meet him. The hundreds of different voices mixing together create a dull roar peppered with the squawks and bleats of the animals for sale. They walk from stall to stall, Harry finding up what he needs and paying for it with heavy gold coins from a little pouch. (“If he knew how expensive these things were, he wouldn’t be so wasteful!”)

After Harry crosses the last item - cocoa powder - off of his list, he turns to Niall. “Anything you wanted to look at?”

Niall’s about to shake his head when a glimmer catches at the corner of his eye. He turns to see a stall of jewelry and trinkets, and he walks toward it. The middle-aged woman sitting behind the counter smiles at him, and then returns to polishing the pin she’s holding. Niall’s eyes sweep over her wares until his eye catches a necklace with a small golden peacock dangling from it, turquoise stones studded into its feathers.

“Look,” he says to Harry. “It reminds me of Zayn.”

Harry shrugs. “Get it for him.”

“I don’t have any money.”

Harry snorts. “That’s not really a problem.”

*

Niall can feel the weight of the necklace in his pocket as they make their way back to the palace, the horses moving sluggishly in the late afternoon sun. When they get to the stable, he leaves his horse with the hand and says goodbye to Harry quickly, eager to give Zayn his gift.

Zayn’s quarters are empty again when Niall arrives, and he frowns. He must still be on his date. Just when he’s peeling off his grimy clothes to get in the shower, he hears a noise emanate from Zayn’s bedroom, and he realizes he must be taking a nap. He strides over to the doorway and is about to announce his presence when he freezes.

Zayn’s in his bed, but he isn’t sleeping. And he isn’t the only one there. Perrie’s pale, bowed body hovers over him, their limbs a tangled mess and soft noises of pleasure coming from both of them.

Niall whirls around, but not before the image is seared into his mind. It screams at him from his closed eyelids as he sinks to the floor outside of the bedroom, careful to hide himself from sight. Suddenly, the urge to vomit is all he can think of, and he sprints to the bathroom just in time and heaves everything in his stomach into the toilet.

He flushes the toilet, knowing that they’re too distracted to hear, and slips out of the room, heart pounding. Tears sting his eyes and his mouth is acrid, but it’s nothing compared to the utterly empty devastation in the pit of his stomach and the tight pain in his chest.

He runs and runs until he stumbles into Harry’s room, and he only has to choke out a few words before Harry understands and pulls him close, lets him default into fitful sleep in his arms.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it's been a while but I actually kind of forgot I never posted the last few parts ':) oops. Anyway, have some more drama and some Larry!

Niall wakes up with a thick head and a foul taste in his mouth. Harry’s awake, lying a foot from Niall and staring at the ceiling. Niall can tell Harry knows he’s awake, but doesn’t speak. He’s numb, and content to stay that way for now - to keep the events from last night locked up in his subconscious for the time being.

Harry breaks the heavy silence after a few minutes.

“I know you probably can’t imagine it, but I know exactly how you feel.”

Niall shifts under the sheets. “What do you mean?”

Harry sighs, and after a long moment, he smiles wistfully at the ceiling. “I’ve known Zayn for a long time. Since I was just a kid. Both of us - just kids. Naturally, when Zayn started realizing that maybe he liked more than just girls, I was the one he experimented with.”

Harry shakes his head. “I was stupid. I thought that maybe we could have something...exclusive. I thought that we could be in love. But when he started sleeping with one of the stable boys, I realized. There was no way I could be with him like that.” He turns over to look at Niall. “I couldn’t do that, I can’t take not being enough for someone, feeling as though I can’t satisfy them.”

He’s quiet for another moment, and then he says “And after all, I’m just a servant. He’s royalty. Wasn’t ever meant to work out.”

Niall lets his eyes slip closed. He can feel the protective numbness in his mind and body beginning to slip. He wonders how Zayn is - if he’s awake, and if he’s thinking of Niall. Of course not, he decides bitterly. He’d have no reason to.

*

The first thing he’s aware of as he wakes up is the soft hair pushed up against his chest. At first Zayn thinks he’s got Niall pressed against him, but the hair is too fine, and when he looks down, it’s too bright to be Niall’s either.

Perrie yawns against his skin and her eyes flutter open, impossibly long lashes kissing the air. Zayn huffs a short sigh and flops over onto his stomach, burying his face in the pillow.

“What is it,” says Perrie uninterestedly.

Zayn just groans. “Think I fucked up.”

“It’s him, isn’t it?” Perrie asks, tone knowing. “That boy that you keep around. Louis told me about him.”

“I just get this weird feeling about him,” Zayn mumbles. “Like I want to spend time with him even when we aren’t fucking.”

He can almost hear Perrie roll her eyes. She gives his bare ass a slap on the way out. “You’re an idiot, you know that?”

Zayn does know this. He’d thought that sleeping with Perrie would get rid of the strange feeling in the pit of his stomach whenever he saw Niall, the way that he’d kept Niall around longer than anyone else before him, the way that he couldn’t fathom ever growing weary with him. It didn’t, though. No, trying to forget about the effect Niall had on him by drowning it in alcohol and drunken sex had done nothing but amplify the emptiness he felt now.

Zayn’s thoughts are interrupted by the sound of footsteps, and he turns to find a slightly salty looking Harry standing at the foot of his bed, arms crossed.

“Put some clothes on,” he says briskly. “You’ve got some apologies to make.”

Zayn snorts. “What are you talking about? Where’s Niall?”

Harry sighs. “He’s in my room, actually. He doesn’t really want to do much of anything right now. He’s a bit destroyed.”

Realization dawns on Zayn. “Aw, fuck, did he -?”

“Did you really think he wouldn’t see, Zayn? He sleeps in your quarters. I don’t know how drunk you were last night but I guess you didn’t notice him walk in, start crying, and run out.”

Zayn’s silent, won’t meet Harry’s eyes.

“You’ve broken his heart, Zayn, and you have to apologize to him if you ever want to see him again.”

Zayn looks up at Harry slowly, a sneer twisting his lips. “I don’t have to apologize for anything, and if I want to see him, I will.”

Harry just stares at him in disgust, and for a moment Zayn thinks he’s going to cry. He just shakes his head, though.

“I thought you were better than this, now,” he says softly. “But I guess you’ll never change.” 

Zayn rolls his eyes. “Don’t be dramatic. I wasn’t trying to hurt him. It’s just that being with him all the time makes me feel strange and I thought fucking Perrie would help.”

Harry cocks an eyebrow. “Did it?”

Zayn shakes his head slowly. “No. I feel worse.”

Harry snorts derisively. “Of course you do. Don’t you get it, Zayn?”

Zayn stares at him with narrowed eyes.

“You’re in love.”

After a beat of silence, Zayn’s cold laughter fills the room. “You always were a romantic, Harry. When are you going to realize that not everyone fits into the perfect little world in your imagination?”

“You’re lying to yourself,” spits Harry, “and you know it. Niall’s the best thing that’s happened to you in a long time and you’re throwing this away. How are you going to look him in the eye? You’ve broken him, Zayn.”

“Get out.” Zayn’s tone is bitter and frigid. “Now.”

“Just think about what you’ve done, Zayn. That’s all I’m asking.”

“Out!” Zayn bellows. Harry stares at him for one more moment, and turns on his heel. He’s gone before Zayn can even start to regret his words.

 

The guest bedroom that Louis sleeps in is close to the grandeur of Zayn’s personal chambers, done in tasteful shades of gold and cream. Harry thinks the best part is the big bed with the canopy and curtains that make it feel like its own little room, but he might be a bit biased since it’s the part that he spends the most time in.

“You seem bothered.” Louis’ breath is hot on the column of his throat, and Harry smiles wistfully. 

“It isn’t really any of my business,” he says. His voice is slow and rough like it usually is after he comes. “But Zayn’s hurt Niall’s feelings, and they’re both complete disasters at the moment.”

“Niall,” Louis says slowly as he watches Harry get out of bed and pull his trousers back on. “The blonde.”

Harry nods. “He walked in on Zayn and that princess. Perrie.”

Louis cocks his head. “His fianceé, yes?”

“Yes, but apparently he had Niall under the impression that there was nothing actually happening between them.”

“Quel salaud,” Louis mutters. “He will never change.”

Harry sighs. “But I really do think that there’s something different about Niall. Zayn cares about him more than anyone else I’ve seen him sleep with, even if he has strange ways of showing it. He doesn’t know how to handle it. That’s why he’s acting out like this. He just doesn’t think about who’s feelings he’s hurting along the way.”

Louis watches him with pursed lips. “You worry so much about them, Harry. I think they will work it out themselves. That Niall, he seems like a smart one. I cannot say the same for Zayn but I have a feeling that he is only putting off something inevitable.”

Harry is silent as he considers, hands worrying the fabric of his shirt.

“And besides,” Louis says, grinning up at Harry from where he’s still laid out on the mattress, “as long as you do not go sleeping with princesses, I do not think we have any reason to be concerned.” His slender hand finds Harry’s big one. “You should stay,” he murmurs. “Zayn does not deserve to have his chambers cleaned by someone as lovely as you.”

Harry blushes, but shakes his head. “I have to,” he sighs. “It’s my duty.”

Louis laughs. “I will tell him it was my fault that you were absent.”

“It is your fault,” Harry grumbles good-naturedly, letting Louis pull him back to the bed.

“You were not complaining earlier,” Louis teases, a sweet little smile curving his lips and making his eyes scrunch up. Harry’s heart swells a little at the sight and he kisses Louis’ hair.

“S’pose I could stay just a little longer.”

*

Niall thinks that he might finally be able to empathize with the girl who’d rented the loft above his family’s home for the summer many years back. Her lover had left her abruptly after a year of happiness for no apparent reason, and she’d been absolutely destroyed. At the time, Niall had struggled to understand how a simple relationship could have such an impact on a person.

Now, he thinks, he’s got a bit of a better idea.

He’d had a fairly carefree childhood - his family had been dirt poor, but he’d never suffered. There had been enough food to go around and his parents had always been good to him. Up until the illness that had claimed both of their lives, he hadn’t experienced the kind of trauma that violently dragged down a person and floored them.

Niall supposes it’s all catching up to him now. There’s no other explanation. Why else would he land in the hands of a foreign prince, develope just enough of a connection to make him think that things just might work out, and then have it all ripped away from him in a split second? 

He’s been lying in Harry’s bed since he’d left with a determination in his face that made Niall a little apprehensive. He doesn’t know how long ago that was, but judging by the angle of the sun through Harry’s little window, it’s been at least an hour or two. The prospect of getting up is daunting, and he doesn’t know where he’d go anyway.

He hears footsteps near the door, and he’s about to ask Harry if he can sleep in his room again that night when a hesitant voice meets his ears.

“Niall?” It’s not Harry. It isn’t even Zayn.

Niall scrambles around to meet a pair of large, concerned eyes and his mouth falls open in surprise.

“I need to talk to you,” Perrie says softly as she sits down on the edge of the bed.

Niall must be gaping a little, because she presses on uneasily. “I just, um, wanted to talk to you about Zayn? I wanted to say that I feel quite horrible about it. I didn’t realize that you two were...involved the way you were - that is to say, I knew you were involved, but...” She trails off. “I’m making a complete mess of this, aren’t I?”

Niall’s still just staring. He blinks and collects himself. “It’s okay. I mean, I’m not angry at you. You’re his fianceé, you’re entitled to him more than me. It’s just...” Niall swallows nervously. “He’d assured me that you hadn’t been...doing anything together.”

Perries shakes her head. “That was the first time. We were bored - if you haven’t noticed, he doesn’t really care for my company, probably because I make fun of him. We’d been drinking. It seemed like a fun thing to do at the time. And, if it makes you feel any better -” she leans into Niall conspiratorially “- he had his eyes closed practically the entire time.” She rolls her eyes. “What an idiot. It’s like he’s in denial.”

Niall’s speechless. “But you - you’re not mad?”

Perrie laughs. “Oh, no. Only reason I would be angry is because I wasted a night with him when I could be getting a piece of that lovely French attendant. Liam, I think? He looks like fun. No, I don’t really care. I don’t want to get married either, you know.”

Niall swallows. “Well, um...thanks. For coming to see me.”

Perrie pats him on the shoulder. “You’re welcome. Don’t waste too many tears on him, all right?”

Niall nods blankly as Perrie gets up.

“Oh, and Niall? He regrets it. He feels horrible. Make him grovel before he gets you back.”

Niall smiles weakly as she leaves, but he’s unsure. He doesn’t know if he can find the will to look Zayn in the eye again, much less make him grovel. He’s sure that Zayn doesn’t apologize very easily either.


	8. Chapter 8

Zayn lies in his quarters that evening completely and utterly alone. Normally, this would be ideal. He likes it when he can retreat from the adoring masses and spend some quality time with his favorite person - himself.

It’s different now, though, because he isn’t alone by choice. No one in the palace wants to be around him. Perrie has ignored Zayn’s halfhearted dinner invitation, Harry thinks he’s behaving like an ass, Louis is wrapped up in Harry, and Niall is completely out of the question.

He wants to sit there and think about all the reasons that he’s above all of them and why he should be happy for some time alone, but it’s bothersome. He should be in control. He’s the prince. 

Zayn sighs and turns over onto his belly unhappily. It’s all ridiculous.

*

He wakes up in the morning with new conviction. He can hear Harry puttering around quietly in the next room - probably trying to get his cleaning done without having to speak to Zayn. That wasn’t going to work out for him. 

“Harry!” he bellows, not bothering to cover up his bare ass.

Harry pokes his irritated face around the doorway a full minute later.

“Fetch Niall for me.”

Harry’s silent for a moment, and then “Are you going to apologize to him?”

Zayn looks at him and sneers. “If I say yes, will you listen to me?”

Harry takes a few hesitant steps toward him, and when Zayn doesn’t shout at him, he sits on the edge of the mattress by him. His big hand moves to the small of Zayn’s back, thumb resting just above the head of his bird tattoo.

“Don’t like fighting with you.”

“Then don’t disagree with me.”

Harry laughs humorlessly. “Only trying to keep your best interests in mind.”

“Just get him for me. Please.” There’s sincerity in his tone, and it gives Harry a glimmer of hope. He squeezes Zayn’s skin gently.

“Half an hour. Get dressed.”

*

Niall’s just stepping out of the shower when Harry approaches him. He can tell that something isn’t normal from the way that Harry tries a little too hard to look casual, putting a slightly unnatural spring in his step as he enters his quarters.

“How are you,” he says to Niall nervously, threading a hand through his hair.

“...Fine.” Niall eyes him suspiciously. “You’ve been talking with him, haven’t you?”

“How did you know?”

“You stink of incense.”

“He wants to see you.”

Niall’s jaw drops, butterflies soaring in his stomach. “You - you mean in person?” He’d been certain that it was only a matter of time before Zayn had him sent to work in the kitchens or banished or something.

Harry nods slowly. “He still wants you, Niall. I know that’s hard to understand, but it’s true.”

Niall swallows, and suddenly the butterflies are more like a pit of vipers. He doesn’t want to face Zayn again, especially because he knows he won’t want to talk or apologize. It will probably be like his first night at the palace all over again. The thought makes Niall sick.

“Niall.” Harry swallows. “You don’t...have to go. I can get you out of here. I can get you some food and a horse without him knowing.” His eyes are huge and nervous, but earnest, and Niall feels a surge of affection for him even though he’s already made up his mind.

He envelopes Harry in a hug. “Thank you. Really. But I have to go. If not for my own sake, for his.”

Harry nods tersely. “Good luck.”

*

Zayn’s face is unreadable when Niall walks in without knocking. He’s sitting, expressionless and cross legged on the divan in his lounge.

Niall stands in front of him, praying that his features are as neutral as he means them to be.  
Zayn swallows before he speaks, and Niall realizes that he’s not expressionless, not quite, there’s a touch of something in his eyes, something like fear -

“Niall.”

Whatever it was he saw, Zayn’s voice doesn’t betray it - but Niall wouldn’t expect it to. He nods stiffly.

“I thought that I had made clear that you are to stay in my quarters and obey my direction. I hope you realize how serious of an offense I consider disobedience.” He pauses to examine his nails. “I won’t have you running off again.”

Niall knows that he should nod, should say “Yes, sir,” and bow his head in shame. Instead, something in him begins to roar, and there’s nowhere for the energy to go but out of his mouth.

“What is wrong with you?” His voice is blessedly stronger than he thought he could manage, even though his face heats up and the butterflies feel as though they’ll lift him off the ground with the tumult they’re causing in his gut.

Zayn’s head snaps up, lips curling into a sneer. “What did you say?” His voice is dangerously soft.

“You’re just going to disregard all those things you said to me? Just pretend like nothing happened? You can’t do that, Zayn. That’s not how it works. You aren’t going to be magically forgiven for your mistakes because everyone thinks you’re the son of god.”

For a moment, Zayn appears to teeter between a temper tantrum and a tearful breakdown, but he reins himself in quickly, and his face becomes stony again.

“You don’t understand,” he whispers bitterly.

Niall’s temper flares again and he takes a step closer to Zayn. “Understand what? That you’re a self-entitled prick who can’t realize his mistakes and has no regard for anyone but himself? I think I’ve got that, actually.”

The room is silent for an uncomfortable moment, and Niall is almost ready to bolt when Zayn’s countenance begins to slip. Niall watches in disbelief as the first tear he’s ever seen Zayn shed curves over the angle of his cheek.

He looks up at Niall beseechingly and there’s more tears caught in his eyelashes and swimming in his eyes. “You don’t. You don’t know how I feel. I don’t know how I feel. I’ve never experienced anything like it.”

Suddenly, Niall catches a glimpse of someone other than the regal, self-assured man he’s known up until now. He sees a boy cast aside by his parents; a boy who always had everything he’d ever wanted but didn’t know what he needed. He sees a boy who needs one thing, a thing so foreign to him that he tries to push it away when it wanders into his life.

He crumples a little, all his aggressive feelings evaporating in an instant.

“Zayn -”

He stops because he doesn’t have the words, and he kneels in front of Zayn instead, pushing the tears from his face with his thumbs.

Zayn shakes his head. “Should be me, kneeling,” he mumbles. “I’m sorry, Niall. I’m sorry. Something about you is making me feel these things, and I don’t know what to do. I’m scared.”

“It’s all right, Zayn. You’ll be fine. You just have to learn how to deal with this.”

“How?” His tone is nearing desperation, his hands finding Niall’s shoulders and holding tight.

A small smile forms on Niall’s lips. “This is a pretty good start.”

 

*

 

The sun beaming down onto Niall’s skin wakes him up. He isn’t sure how the seasons work in the desert, but the weather’s been hotter and drier lately. He doesn’t mind, though. It gives them an excuse to laze around and sleep naked.

Zayn’s eyes open only a moment after Niall’s do, and his hand comes up to rub at them.

“Morning,” he says, giving a small smile.

“Hey,” murmurs Zayn. Their voices are rough, and though it could just be because they’ve been sleeping, Niall thinks it might have something to do with last night. He’d never heard of two people sucking eachother off simultaneously, but it seemed that Zayn had a new idea for them to try every night.

Zayn rolls closer to Niall in bed and kisses at his jaw. His lips are warm as he mouths lightly down his neck and Niall squirms a little, ticklish. He decides he needs to put an end to it when Zayn starts biting playfully at his collarbone and brushing his fingers against Niall's hips.

“Time to get up,” he announces as he stands up and stretches ignoring Zayn’s groan from where he remains crumpled on the bed. He’s been tricked into morning sex before by Zayn - sex that inevitably led to a nap, and then more sex. Niall knows that Zayn loves him, but his true soulmate will probably always be his bed.

He hums as he makes his way to the shower and pats Isa’s head as he passes through the lounge. She looks up at him in half-conscious annoyance and Niall can’t help but think of how much she acts like her owner.

The squeak of the faucet and the rush of falling water are just as routine to him now as waking up in the morning. He’s even got Zayn to get him his own bottles of shampoo and soap and perfumes in interesting scents.

Niall nearly drops the bottle of sweet-smelling soap when Zayn’s arms wrap around him from behind. His lips are at his ear immediately. “Don’t leave me hanging like that, pet.” His voice is still low and rough and hungry.

Niall sighs, and twists around in his arms. “Zayn. You know that it’s the last day of Louis’ visit, right? You’ve got some goodbyes to say today.”

Zayn snorts. “What does that have to do with having some quick fun in the shower, love?”

“You’re aware that we need to be there in fifteen minutes?”

Zayn curses, and shoulders Niall to the side so he can be under the spray of hot water instead. Niall makes to protest, but Zayn waves him off. “Go on. You look effortlessly perfect as always. You’ll never know the struggles of needing time to prepare for presentation like I do.”

Niall just shakes his head in disbelief, because he’s never seen anything more beautiful than Zayn when he’s just woken up, all sleepy and warm and unguarded. He steps out of the shower anyway, casting one look back at Zayn’s wet, illuminated figure before he finds himself a towel.  
Twenty minutes later, Zayn is ready to go, and even though they’re already late he insists on catching Niall’s lips one last time before they go out the door. Niall knows how he’ll be - he won’t quit until he gets what he didn’t before.

“Come on,” he sighs, leading the way out of the chambers while Zayn stalks along behind him.

 

Louis, Harry, and Liam are gathered already in the small room off of the main dining hall. The farewell luncheon for Louis’ parents is being held simultaneously, but Zayn and Louis have been given permission to have a more intimate meal of their own.

They all chat throughout the meal - even Liam has grown more talkative over the past few weeks as they’ve gotten to know each other better. His eyes crinkle up when he laughs at some horrible joke that Harry’s told, and they sit together for close to an hour after they’re all done eating, just talking until the knock on the door comes.

It’s Louis’ father’s page, of course, telling him that he needs to report to the carriage house soon. Still, they drag things out until Liam starts looking anxious about the time, and the others fall silent.

The goodbyes are difficult. Niall had never guessed that he would have become so close with the other three over such a short period of time, but he knows that Zayn must feel ten times worse. 

Even though Zayn had sought the pardon for Harry’s servitude that would free him to leave for France with Louis, Niall can’t imagine how it must feel for him to watch his lifelong companion sail away to a foreign land. He’ll visit, of course, and Zayn has promised Niall a holiday to France sometime soon. Niall, Louis, and Liam still leave the room for a few minutes, though, to give the pair the chance for a private goodbye. When they emerge, Harry is practically bawling, sniffling and blinking like a sad puppy. Zayn is wearing a mask of composure, but Niall can tell that his eyes are just a little glossier than normal.

By the time they’ve watched the gilded carriage with Harry, Liam, Louis, and his family inside round the bend that takes them out of sight, Zayn is nothing more than a gloomy, drooping presence at Niall’s shoulder. He’s silent as they make their way back to the chambers, in very clear contrast to his mood when they left in the morning.

Niall sits down with a book in the lounge - he’s been working hard to improve his Arabic - but Zayn just mopes into the bedroom and crawls under the covers. After about half an hour, Niall begins to feel bad and shuts his book with a sigh to follow him.

Zayn is on his side, curled into himself a little, staring at the wall opposite the entrance to the room.

“Hey,” Niall murmurs as he climbs onto the bed, crouching near Zayn and putting a hand on his shoulder. “All right?”

Zayn leans a little into Niall’s touch, pulling his shoulder up so his hand is sandwiched between his shoulder and cheek. He sighs, and turns over. 

“Yes. Just being dramatic.”

Niall breathes a short laugh. “You aren’t being dramatic. It’s okay that you’re sad, you just said goodbye to your best friend. It’s natural to feel this way.”

Zayn rolls his eyes, but they’re twinkling. “Thank you for the psychoanalysis, Niall. I think I know exactly what I need to cheer me up, though.”

Niall pauses for a moment and then snorts. “You’re really going to use this as an opportunity for sex?”

“You still owe me, remember?”

“I don’t recall any promises…” His tone is teasing though, now, and since he’s already hardening in his trousers, he doesn’t protest when Zayn’s hand feels its way underneath the fabric.

He strokes Niall idly until he’s whining, then lets go so he can sit up and move a hand to Niall’s jaw to kiss him. Niall’s lips are already urgent with want, but he can tell that Zayn wants to take it slowly tonight, so he reins himself in to focus on moving his mouth against Zayn’s and feeling the heat of his breath and his hand as Zayn rubs his thumb slowly over Niall’s jaw.

There’s no rush - never been less of a rush. Their hands keep each other anchored to the bed’s surface but to Niall it feels like they’re floating somewhere near the ceiling. The air in the room seems to get thicker and thicker as their kisses get deeper, and when Niall breaks away to breathe, he realizes his heartbeat is sailing along relentlessly, though he doesn’t feel any sense of urgency.

“Zayn,” he whispers a few minutes later, knowing it’s what he’s waiting for, “please, would you..?”

Zayn exhales through his nose in anticipation and presses one last kiss to the corner of Niall’s mouth before his hands find the tie at the front of his trousers. He works them down slowly, squeezing Niall’s growing erection once to make him gasp.

When Zayn enters him, it’s different. Not shockingly different than the last time - the sensation isn’t changed, the stretch and drag is still familiar. It’s the way that his heart flutters once Zayn’s inside him with his arms circled around Niall’s neck, the way that he feels instantly content and somehow complete once they’re joined together.

Emotion washes over him and, embarrassingly, he feels his eyes begin to swim with tears. Zayn notices right away as Niall stills, and his hand is at his jaw instantly, thumb brushing gently at Niall’s eyelashes.

“Niall? Am - am I hurting you?” he asks in alarm, but Niall shakes his head.

“Sorry - I just - I’m just happy,” he gets out, smiling shakily. Zayn beams back at him and finds his lips for a kiss. Niall kisses him back with fervor, suddenly intent on taking in as much of Zayn’s presence as he possibly can.

He draws in a shuddering breath as Zayn begins moving inside of him and his fingertips rove restlessly over the skin of Zayn’s back. Zayn kisses both of Niall’s eyelids softly and moves to suck marks into his neck, lavishing attention on him. 

Niall’s legs wrap around Zayn’s torso, pleasure spreading through him each time Zayn rocks into him. He grinds on Niall’s prostate to try and make him moan, lips quirking a little when he does.

Zayn’s hand moves to find Niall’s cock again, and he strokes steadily, making Niall’s breath catch and rush out unevenly. When he comes it’s as though a great elation burgeons up out of his chest, blossoming into the ecstasy magnified a hundred times over all across his body. He can distantly feel Zayn panting into his neck as he finds his own release.

When he opens his eyes again, all he can see is Zayn’s giddy grin. Niall can’t help but mirror him, laughing breathlessly as he flops bonelessly into the mattress. They’re silent for a while, and Niall considers his words for a long time before he commits to them.

“That’s how it should have been. The first time,” he says softly. 

Zayn is silent for a long moment. “I know,” he says finally. His tone is quiet and heavy. “I’m sorry.” His voice cracks, and Niall shifts onto his side to lay his hand on Zayn’s chest.

“Don’t cry,” he murmurs. “It all came out in the end.”

Zayn smiles, eyes glittering as he regards Niall. “I love you.”

Niall’s eyes close in satisfaction, because even though the words still sound slightly foreign on Zayn’s tongue, they’re beautiful to hear.

“Yeah. I love you too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All done! Yes, the end is here. Thank you very much for reading.

**Author's Note:**

> Just a quick note - I am aware that real life Zayn doesn't claim any Arabian heritage, but this is an AU and the ancient culture of Saudi Arabia was more convenient for me to research/write about than that of Pakistan, which was chock-full of invasions and colonization and such :(
> 
> You can find more of my work on tumblr: wester-fic.tumblr.com


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